


A Life for a Life

by Serindrana



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Angst, F/M, Grief, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-07
Updated: 2011-07-07
Packaged: 2017-10-21 03:29:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/220415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serindrana/pseuds/Serindrana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ser Cauthrien made a deal in another life, and as Loghain's pyre burns bright, she's asked to make another. Cauthrien/Loghain, Cauthrien/Desire Demon. A gift for FirstBlush (LJ), who gave me the prompt of "Cauthrien versus a desire demon".</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Life for a Life

Cauthrien is standing, though her legs and back ache and she wants nothing more than to sink to her knees. She wants to feel the ground beneath her, bow her head and inhale the smell of earth. Instead, there's only fire on the air, charring flesh, burning hair, accompanied with the sickening knowledge that she knows the man who is crumbling to nothing before her eyes.

She's in Denerim; it's autumn and she stands just outside the city walls. Loghain's pyre is attended only by her and Anora, released from her tower cell for only the afternoon, and a few loyal knights. A few of her men from Maric's Shield. A few Chantry sisters, singing the Chant as if anybody there still holds onto the hope that Loghain will sit by the Maker's side.

As if anybody there still thinks he will sing in the Beyond.

Her stomach turns and twists at the thought of his soul trapped wandering in the Void. Cauthrien is hardly a devoted Andrastian, though she knows the Chant and attends services. She does not often think about what happens After. She does not want to think about it now, and so she stands apart.

The Warden marches for Redcliffe, chasing darkspawn, the archdemon, the Blight, but Cauthrien and the few pieces of the army who would not follow remain in Denerim to mourn, to fall apart, to dissolve into dust on the winds of history. Even Anora is no longer queen. What once was fell on the floor of the Landsmeet with Loghain's head.

There is nothing waiting for them except dishonor. Exile.

She faces the fire and, finally, sits.

There's a trail of touches along her jaw, light and feathery, and she twitches, ignores it. She ignores the feeling of somebody settling behind her, arms going around her waist, arms that are insubstantial, a shifting mess of forms; lithe purple limbs, strong masculine ones. There is hair that tickles at her ear, and then none at all, just an intoxicating warmth.

She has lived with this since she was fifteen and wished with all her heart that she could be something more than a farmer's daughter, that she could meet the grand Hero of River Dane and serve in his shadow. It had been a wish born out of loneliness, frustration, too many stories.

She should have known better. Wishes could be heard, when made in the depths of dreams.

The desire demon perched behind her is invisible to the rest of the world. It exists only within Cauthrien, the creature's shape full-formed from her mind, where, she's learned through years of reading, gleaning information from books she only half-understood, the demon crosses the Veil. It hangs half-in, half-out, anchored in the promise she made as a young girl.

 _Give me a life and I will give you mine._

The demon has been a weight for eighteen years, drawing strength every night while she sleeps. The touch of others burns her flesh and she has withdrawn into duty, battle. Every night, the demon comes to her with dreams and visions of Loghain, gifts them to her in exchange for the arch of her body, the sigh of life from her lips. But Cauthrien has resisted the final step for eighteen years, has denied the demon each time that it asks to see through her eyes. The demon has only laughed and whispered, in time.

Now it holds her with the arms of a dead man.

"He doesn't have to be dead," it purrs in her ear, voice sliding through skin, bone, into her and through her. It's not Loghain's voice, but it is close. Heavy with fake compassion. Need. Want. She shivers. "Say the word, and you will have him forever, not only in the night. I will give that to you, darling girl."

She stares at the pyre.

She remembers fleeting touches, glances, kisses in the dark, being pressed down to low tables covered with maps. She remembers moments where she didn't know what was real and what wasn't. She can't untangle, has never been able to untangle, what really happened from what the demon gave to her.

She doesn't know if the real Loghain ever kissed her, ever held her, ever whispered words of approval, affection. She doesn't know. She's never known.

She yielded to him every time, whether he was real or not.

"Let me in, just a little."

Cauthrien twitches, hands clenching momentarily into fists. But then Loghain's lips are ghosting over her brow and she relaxes, comes unfurled.

"A life for a life. Mine isn't over," Cauthrien whispers, hoping that nobody will hear.

"But it is." Lips at her throat now, at her shoulder. "A life in his shadow. A life at his feet. That is what you asked for; to defend your land, your life, your master. And now that is done."

"There is still work to be done." She feels the graze of teeth even through her armor.

"By others. You are so strong- but you deserve to rest. Let me take care of you." Warm, strong fingers slip beneath metal as if it doesn't exist. They stroke over her belly, her ribs. "Every fantasy you've dreamed of, yours. You and him, alive, alone, a farm of your own, children. Everything you gave up for him, you can have with him."

It takes every ounce of willpower to breathe, "It would be a lie."

"You're very good at believing lies," and it's Loghain's voice, fully, a low chuckle as his teeth find the lobe of her ear. She bites back a whimper. "Don't fight, Cauthrien."

"It's all I know how to do." Her voice has become a soft whine, pleading, frightened.

"That's not true." The demon's true voice replaces Loghain's for just a moment. "You serve. You need. You adore and love. You will never doubt that it is him, if you'll let me in. You will serve him. Need him. Adore-"

"You," Cauthrien protests with a barely stifled groan. She presses her armored fist to her forehead, takes a deep breath.

"Yes," it says, voice so calm it makes her shudder. "And no. Both together. Forget, Cauthrien. Darling girl. Best beloved. Don't fight. If you fight me, you will only be alone. The Warden may still kill you. Your new king certainly would not mind. Why know of that? Why keep walking? Why let yourself die inside?"

 _Because it's not true, because I was a foolish girl, because I am a **fool**_ , she thinks as fingers slip lightly over her thighs, and then there are tears, quiet tears of exhaustion. She sinks into herself.

"A life for a life," the demon breathes. And then it is Loghain, cradling her back against him. "A life for a life. Let me have you, and you will have the life you've always wanted."

Cauthrien is thirty-two years old, a knight of the realm, feared and respected, but her voice is that of a child's when she whispers, "Yes."


End file.
